Hold
by Shades of Ink
Summary: Ginevra Molly Weasley and her buried love for a complete stranger, and hatred for the voice that seemed to dominate her mind. Mid-CoS. Three shot. (I just had to use her full name for once)
1. Abstract

**_..._**

**_Hold._**

**_..._**

"A shady friend - for Torrid days -  
Is easier to find -  
Than one of higher temperature  
For Frigid - hour of Mind -"

--Emily Dickinson

...

Chapter One: Abstract

...

_August 9th, 1992_

Ginny plopped onto her bed, glancing over her shoulder to make certain that she truly was alone, and that the door was perfectly shut, closing her and her muddled thoughts away from the busy comings and goings of the family.

She was grateful to have her own room, however small it was. Being the only daughter of the family had its small advantages… despite the fact that the room had been added to the top story as a present for her eighth birthday, and seemed to fit haphazardly under the attic, and tipped over the second story at a strange angle.

Clearing that from her mind, Ginny proceeded to address more important matters. She spread her books out across her bed, clearing away the ones accounted for until she found what she'd been seeking.

Intrigued, Ginny brought out a new quill, dipped it in ink, and let it hover over the page…

What was she doing? This clearly belonged to someone else – why should she write in it?

Better yet – how'd she get it? Did she even pay for it? Did someone give it to her? Maybe the person didn't want it anymore… perhaps that's why they hadn't written anything… Maybe they were looking for it? Perhaps someone could track her down, and they'd accuse her of stealing it, and then maybe –

"Ginny!"

With a jolt, the Weasley in question jumped out of her thoughts and back the present. She recovered, finding that she'd tipped over her new inkbottle, which had spilled over onto the page.

Her initial reaction was frustration, but upon watching a moment longer, she saw the ink immerse itself into the page, spreading out like spidery veins… drinking… living… A small trail trickled on, leaving no trace behind it until it finally spilled onto her bed, staining the fabric.

The spidery lines flickered back, slithering their way into the visible surface of the page, clearly scripting beautiful flourishes that looped gracefully into one word – indefinite, infinitely open yet ambiguous - bursting with anonymous invitation… and eerie charm…

> _Hello._

_..._

August 31st, 1992 

'I'm scared, Tom.'

Ginny waited for the comforting words to embrace her gently after drinking in her untidy scrawl of dread and anxiety.

It was true. With the Sorting only hours away, the sky was growing dark. Hermione was her only companion in the train compartment, though Ginny tried deliberately to sit as far away as possible.

These words were hers and hers alone.

> _Scared of what?_

_'_The Sorting. School. Everything_._'__

The reply was prompt.

> _There's nothing to be scared of. You don't expect trouble, do you?_

No, Ginny thought. Her quill touched the page, scratching lightly.

'Not with what I heard about last year. There shouldn't be any danger - not anymore. But it's the Sorting th –'

The dark veins of ink interposed Ginny's quickly disappearing words.

> _What happened last year?_

'Nothing.'

Tom's question repeated, smothering Ginny's evasive reply with a bolder script.

> _What happened?_

Ginny struggled for a moment. Not only did she have but a small part of the story, she also doubted it would make sense at all to Tom.

'Voldemort'

There was a long pause. Ginny thought fleetingly of dismissing the matter when Tom's handwriting shone fresh on the parchment again.

> _Interesting name. Who is he?_

'Have you never heard of him?' 

> _I might have. But I won't know unless you tell me._

So, Ginny told him. She told him everything she knew. Every bit of the dark wizard's past she knew about – which actually didn't amount to much. She kept writing and writing, often spouting thoughts that continued in rambling circles until she began repeating herself – then she hit a snag.

> _Harry Potter. Haven't you mentioned him before?_

'Once,' Ginny lied. She figured maybe he wouldn't remember names that well. Yet, it seemed her thoughts must have been entirely clear through her script, for there was no other way he could have known her so well to be lying.

> _You trust me, don't you Ginny?_

Ginny replied honestly, however meaningful the words portrayed themselves to be – evasive, wary, but true.

'I don't know you.'

> _You know me well enough to know I'm not about to tell anyone._

'Tell anyone what?'

> _That you like this boy._

'But I –' the ink trailed off, and dripped over the page. She did. But it hadn't been that obvious, had it? Evidently, for it seemed Tom felt he didn't even need to reply.

'Who are you, Tom?'

Ginny heard a noise from across the compartment, and she glanced up to see Hermione bringing out a book to read. She smiled at Ginny, but Ginny only looked down at the page – still blank.

It seemed the absence of words told more than any reply he may have had. Though, Ginny was too eager on his words to notice any hesitance – or at least to be aware that he was being just as careful as she was.

> _Your friend, Ginny. Nothing more._

Relief and warmth washed over the young girl strongly enough that she never found a moment to notice he hadn't answered any questions at all.

...

Note: First chapter's always boring, I know. But I actually obsessed a lot over making this story perfect, so... makes an _ahem_ type sound, indicating the review button

Two chapters left.


	2. Confide

Note: This is seriously jumbled.

...

Chapter Two: Confide

...

October 20th, 1992

Ginny sat alone in her dormitory, speechless and obligated to reply at the same time.

'I'm so sorry, Tom. I never knew.'

> _It's alright._

'No. I've been complaining all this time about my brothers, and my parents, and my stupid robes, I never stopped to think.' Ginny let her quill stop there, her mind drifting on.

Tom's words parted her thoughts again – leaving her mind like a cloudless sky – clear, open, but easily corrupted.

> _You understand, now, don't you?_

'What?' Cloudless again.

> _We grew up the same way – but in different worlds._

Ginny said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

> _I grew up without a family, while you have probably too much family to deal with. Despite that, we're both alone. Nobody knows what it's like, except us._

Ginny frowned at the thought, but felt its truth as if the fact had been written in her soul. She smiled innocently, giving more.

'No one's ever understood me like you, Tom.'

> _And no one ever will._

...

October 31st, 1992

'Dinner's soon. Goodbye, Tom'

Ginny practically threw the quill into the inkbottle, her mind whirling for whatever reason…

No, she was hungry. That was it – she needed food. Yet, she stopped in her tracks, turning back toward the diary – almost expectantly. There, the letters were quickly fading. She loyally ran back to them, grasping the book before the message was gone.

> _Wait._

She obediently sat down, all thoughts of the Great Hall forgotten.

'Tom?' she wrote.

> _You're my only friend, Ginny._

'I know.'

> _You're all I have._

Ginny nodded her head, feeling an uplifting rush of attachment. 'I know.'

She waited in silence, expecting something – unsure of what she felt was coming. A promise? A vow? Something more…

> _I would die for you, Ginny._

She stared blankly at the parchment for a moment, her thoughts only beginning to stir once the letters died, and the page had faded to a blank invitation. Slowly, despite her better knowledge, Ginny believed it. With all her innocent heart she believed it to be true.

A small, fond smile crept at the corners of her lips. 'I know,' she scrawled.

> _Would you die for me?_

She stopped, the words striking her like an arrow, spreading the poison of charm, deceit, and beautiful, tempting lies. She attempted to consider the option logically, only finding the answer burning at her mind, pounding a dull rhythm of persistence and oblivion.

She didn't have to think it out. The answer was obvious. Too much to hold back. Waiting, waiting, waiting…

She burst.

'Yes. I would.'

The answer was immediate.

> _I need someone to trust._

'You can trust me, Tom.'

> _A deep secret._

'I can keep it.'

> _Swear it to me. Promise you wouldn't tell a soul._

'I promise.'

> _Too many people have betrayed me. You wouldn't do that, would you?_

'Never, Tom.'

The ink flourished again, showing life before Ginny's waiting eyes.

> _I need a favor._

_..._

November 1st, 1992

'I think I'm losing my memory,' Ginny managed to write in her cloudy state of mind. 'I think I remember sleeping… but I'm so tired.'

> _You're fine, Ginny. You're just hungry._

'And everyone's telling me I didn't show to dinner.'

> _You did. You told me you were going. Remember?_

'I think…'

Before the ink had faded, a familiar message in her own handwriting shone clear and fresh on the page once again. 'Dinner's soon. Goodbye, Tom.'

> _Remember?_ Tom repeated.

'Yes. I do.' She did. Clearly, she did. Then how did that explain…

> _There's nothing to explain Ginny. You're tired. You need some rest._

'No, that's alright, I think –'

> _I insist._

'I have classes, Tom.'

> _It's Saturday._

Ginny reeled, her mind spinning in a dizzy circle of memory and fog. 'But yesterday was –'

_Friday._ The word formed under her quill. She wondered if he'd said it, or if she'd written it herself. Her mind spun in protest once again.

But yesterday was Monday, wasn't it?

'Where is everyone, then?'

> _Outside._

'This early?'

> _It's almost noon, Ginny. You really need some rest._

'Tom, I –'

> _No, Ginny._

'I heard that last night there were –'

> _They're lying._

'I don't know where I was!'

> _With me. I was always here._

That much was true… the blood, the whispering… Tom was there.

> _The nurse, Ginny. You need the nurse._

'Why?'

> _You're so dizzy._

'I –' Ginny clutched her head. "I am…"

> _Sleep._

'Why?'

> _To forget._

'Forget what?'

There was no reply. Ginny stood, clutching her head now with both hands as her question faded. Had he said anything? She couldn't tell – the ink never stayed.

Memory. It was burning… confusing… "Forget what?" Ginny murmured aloud.

> _See the nurse._

'Why, Tom?'

> _You know why._

"What?" she whispered, her brow furrowing. She felt her forehead - cold, clammy, with ginger hair plastered across it.

'Why?' she wrote, wondering why the word sounded so familiar.

> _You haven't slept in days._

"I haven't slept –" she murmured. "Days…" That, of all things, must have been truth. The simplicity of it… explanation… had she deprived herself? She felt within her a certain consciousness of dizzying circles slow down and begin rocking back and forth – like the slow ticking of some distant clock. The feeling overwhelmed her until all she could think of was how tired she was, and how dark the room was getting…

> and how soft the carpet was under her fallen cheek…
> 
> ...
> 
> **Review Notes:**
> 
> **Duskrider Q: **True. That little flaw worried me, but I hoped people wouldn't notice it. I originally had her mother storm up afterwards and scold her, but I liked the climax drop-off better. I figured you'd assume the scene continued behind the pages, so to speak.
> 
> **Ebony Moonlight: **Thank you, thank you, thank you! hugs
> 
> **Miss Piratess: **I think it truly is torture to see both sides while one is obscured. Yet, somehow we humans seem to think it makes entertaining literature...


	3. Shadow

Note: Sorry. Internet went on holiday for a while.

...

Chapter Three: Shadow

...

December 17th, 1992

Ginny woke to the filtered sunlight of winter morning. She rolled over, checking her calendar to see what day it truly was… Saturday. There had been more attacks, hadn't there… How long since Halloween?

Would Tom lie?

In an instant – as if at the mention of the name – Ginny felt the swimming cloudiness return. Her headache had grown to a constant, dull pounding, and everyone who caught a glimpse of her either stared, or voiced the obvious – as if she hadn't realized already.

She stumbled up to the mirror by the window, touching her pale face.

Nearly the whole school had gotten sick back in October… how was it even after recovering, she still felt so awful?

And these dreams - these awful dreams kept screaming. She always woke to find the whole school whispering about it.

Perhaps Tom was right – she did need the nurse. And the fact that he knew before anyone else noticed… he truly cared, didn't he?

'Tom.'

_Yes._

'I need someone to talk to.'

_Of course._

'I can't remember where I was last night.'

There was no reply.

'Who's attacking everyone, Tom? I keep hearing people say that it's Harry Potter, but I know it couldn't be. He wouldn't do that, would he?'

_He might._

'You don't know him!'

_Apparently, no one does._

'Am I the only one who knows it isn't him?'

_Seems odd, doesn't it? Having nobody on your side…_

'Who is it, then?'

> _I don't know. Why does it matter?_

'Someone might die!'

> _Nobody has yet. Why would killings start now?_

'I know they will…' Ginny trailed off, wondering how she knew so surely, feeling something swim beneath the surface.

> _There's really nothing to worry about. As long as we can trust each other, we'll be fine._

'I trust you.'

> _Can I trust you back?_

Ginny stared past the page, scribbling her vow.

...

December 25th, 1992

'Merry Christmas, Tom.'

> _Already?_

'Yes,' Ginny wrote - bored. She felt a certain strain as she continued to watch Tom's words flourish and die redundantly… never ceasing to leave existence as if nothing had happened.

Perhaps that was the point? Or was she becoming madly skeptical and overly speculative again? Tom never liked that…

'I miss my family, Tom.'

> _It was your choice to stay._

'No…' she began, trailing the ink to where she continued her slight protest. 'Fred and George decided, too. And Percy.'

> _But you never told them what you thought. Don't blame this on them… you're angry, aren't you?_

'No, why would I be?' Ginny always knew it best to consider Tom's words… however…

> _The little attention they give you, the poor quality of things they buy you. Don't they care?_

'Of course they do.' Yet, she felt the vague flare of indignation.

> _It isn't fair, is it?_

'No.'

> _I understand it more than you know, Ginny. It's neglect._

Ginny took in a great, shuddering breath. He was right. Oh, he was always right about these things. But why hadn't she felt it before? Were these really her feelings… or his… through her?

She shook her head. 'I'm sure you're right, but –'

His script interposed again – inflicting upon her that demanding question that seemed to only further intensify the pounding in the empty chambers of her mind.

> _You trust me, don't you Ginny?_

The secrets… echoing back in those chambers…

'I trust you to tell me the truth,' her quill blurted – the ink smearing as she wrote it.

> _What truth? It's all there in your mind, Ginny. You know the truth._

But Ginny couldn't trust her mind anymore. The bloody mess it was.

...

January 21st, 1992

> _I need you._

The words were passing, as was Ginny's broken smile of loyalty. She screamed behind it, dreading his request.

> _ A favor –_

It was sick.

> _ - from a friend._

Ginny felt the morbid allegiance bubbling in the pit of her stomach, but she forced it down, calmed it to a mere response of fidelity - swallowing her innocence.

'Yes,' she managed to contrive from her shaking hand.

> _My true friend. Thank you._

Ginny uttered a small gasp of fear, but bit it back, waiting for him to continue.

> _Please, as I haven't the body – you remember the place, don't you?_

"Second Floor," Ginny muttered to herself – monotonous and trained.

Walking through the school halls had suddenly become a strange experience. The stone – once cold and dark – now seemed familiar. The torches glowed a different way – instead of bright, merry beacons, they had become weakened cries that plagued the air with an evanescent glow – so much, Ginny couldn't help but feel the obvious and self-explanatory notion that she was looking through another's eyes.

She closed her own, but her legs kept walking – led by foreign memories of a fifty-year-old routine.

It wasn't until she reached the bathroom that she started to lose all consciousness. Her legs began to numb, she felt her body sway, and the last thing she saw before the cold room blacked were Tom's freshly spoken words on the page…

> _I'll take it from here, Ginny._

Slowly – and with the ease of oblivious comfort – she felt herself slipping. Gradually, she felt an increasing rush as her body grew more distant. Yet, at the same time, a voice that hovered right above her ear began to whisper something.

She understood the words when they entered her mind, but the sound itself was so strange… and she couldn't even believe how wonderful the whole thing really was.

She felt nothing.

There was nothing until something tangible broke through. Real words, Ginny thought. I can feel them, I can see them, I can hear them clearly.

"Is someone there?"

The room was clear again. She heard a slight hissing, and she clamped her mouth shut in panic. She could feel her hands again – they belonged to her. She saw her fingers lightly caressing the insignia of a snake, and she snatched them back. The other hand held something coursing with heat, and she glanced at it.

"Who's there?" the whiny voice demanded harshly.

In shock, Ginny dropped the diary.

_'Open it.'_

That voice. She'd never heard it before, but she loved it so much. She felt her mind melt with confusion, but her body was screaming at the gravity of what it felt.

"Open it," she felt her mouth say.

Her trembling hands met the ground, and gingerly lifted the tattered book. She set the spine onto her palm – still coursing with a strange sort of warmth – and it opened to the page where Tom's words were shining again – confined again into a bleary world of ink.

> _What happened?_

Ginny froze, her eyes growing round and fearful. She didn't have a quill, but she continued to voice her thoughts.

"Someone saw me," she muttered – more to herself than anyone

> _Forget them. Close your eyes._

"Can you hear me?" she whispered, choking on the instinct to run.

> _It's almost done, Ginny. Please._

"What is?" She felt herself breathing heavily as if she'd run the length of the castle, though she kept her voice as low as possible. "What am I doing here?"

Tom's script grew harsh – no longer beautiful.

> _Be quiet, Ginny. Just forget everything._

Everything. What was it?

"Who are you?" the person demanded – sounding closer now. Ginny didn't bother to turn around. She wouldn't want whoever it was to see her face anyway.

> _Put the diary down, Ginny. Forget what you saw._

"What's going on?" the high girly voice asked.

"I don't know," Ginny whispered to herself – panicked. She held the diary close to her, tears of fear and confusion rolling down her cheeks. She turned around to see who was there, but saw nothing.

Crying freely now, she felt her hands begin to shake madly.

"Can you keep a secret, Ginny?"

She spun around, looking for Tom. Nowhere. But his voice was everywhere. She clutched her head, rubbing her wet face.

_'Avenge me.'_

She hated him. Hated his voice – that subtle, charming voice she felt she'd known forever. But it was Tom…. oh, how she loved him. How she needed his words, his thoughts, his mind. She loved him like herself – but was willing to give her whole existence for the cause of keeping him happy... keeping him away...

She wasn't complete here – now – with the diary closed. But opening it… opening it meant she'd lose even more.

With a final cry of defeat, she hurled it without looking, feeling almost as if she'd won.

It was fear that drove her to fight back, pure instinct of innocence that kept her running from the chamber, and love for a stranger that kept her locked within the secrets they shared.

...

Note: Creepy's real fun to write. I would finish with the entire year… but I strongly feel it would become undeniably lame and redundant. So, I figured I'd leave it at a nice drop-off point. I'm sure you all know the ending anyway.

**Review notes:**

**Miss Piratess: **That's real strange to hear. But it's a compliment still. Thank you.  
  
**Tru Lys:** Three words: bwa ha ha.

**Jenevieve: **It is, in fact, Ginevra - confirmed by Rowling. What a dork I am, eh?


End file.
